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Jack felt cheated. Trying to get to the second monitor and ending up swiveling around on the bloody chair another godforsaken time, he identified the mild irritation in his throat as disappointment.
He had taken on the night shift expecting a challenge (especially considering what happened his last nightshift). And what with all the night guards screaming ‘bloody murder’ when he arrived in the morning and all the unlucky folks desperate enough for cash promptly breaking down at the end of the week so badly that they accepted encouragement from Matt.
Matt.
Now, that brought up a discussion topic. Who was worse off: The day guards dealing with demonic toddlers, salad bars and scrummaging around for tokens for five hours, or the night guards who sat in a spinny chair for an immeasurable amount of time with a more straightforward possibility of excruciating death and suffering?
A flashing yellow warning sign and a distant melody brought him back down a bit. Right, the music box. Jack wondered whether or not he should let it unwind. He’d been at this Freddy’s for far too long now, maybe a month? It was shocking, to say the least, that it hadn’t closed yet, but he hadn’t done anything of real significance here either.
The last location, Colorado, had been over in a week. He’d been through the nonsensical and ultimately meaningless list of things he did so many times that he was this close to considering Dave’s offer.
-Didn’t murder anyone.
-Repaired an arcade machine that no one knew the origin of.
-Grew increasingly concerned over the interests that children had.
-Didn’t do a backflip.
-Escaped the Rat.
-Ended up in some cosmic birthday party gave him peace the same way an 18th-century map would help you get to America.
Anyways, maybe if the puppet fucker showed up, he’d be able to glean some answers on what he was doing wrong. His lackluster contribution to freeing the souls wasn’t making any more kids less dead, and the spindly thing seemed to be the only relatively sane person in the entire franchise.
Jack definitely didn’t get frightened by the screech of the computer suddenly powering up, stumble onto the floor with flailing arms and knock his stupid head into a filing cabinet, which then made a loud bang which echoed out into the hallways. And then he absolutely did not slam down the door button at the sudden panic of the noise drawing the animatronics near, only to have the door whirr upwards to reveal a two meter tall deformed rabbit staring down at him, because you already closed the door at 12am, fuckass.
...
Close the fucking door-!
The door now again closed, he was free to swear as loud as he wanted.
“Employee,” the door was being banged over and over again, “My fucking face is-”
“I don't know where your bloody face is!” he shouted, “How do all of you manage to lose it? Every single location. Explain this to me, you… You faceless robot!”
Jack could practically see the unimpressedness.
“Fuck off, Bonzo!” he settled with.
He sat gracefully back down into the spinny chair. Taking a deep breath of stanky office mystery smell, and breathing out the taste of stability.
The monitor glowed blue and mockingly, staining his hands with light and beeping incessantly.
Jack found the mouse under a stack of lawsuit material drawings and clicked into Dave’s account.
‘Wow, just leaving me to die, Old Sport?? Who’s the heartless one here?’
Oh, sweet Breadbear, please let me not have to deal with this emo crap.
He scrolled up the 67 paged file titled ‘I know you’ve hacked into my account, you marmalade shit-biscuit! Answer me dammit’.
His skim-reading provided four statements of in order importance:
‘Why are you letting the music-box wind down??! I can’t keep slapping locks on this cardboard box, padlocks are expensive D:<’
‘Break into a building to keep an Old Sport company and you get threateningly clunked at by a urine soaked, child entertainer body pillow. What gives?!!’
‘Now that we’re having a conversation, I’d like to mention that you need to buy more conditioner. I can’t find any in your bathroom. I know that we’re shaved head buddies and all, but scalp feel is important, ya know’
‘Ok, I’ll cut you a deal. Open the fifth air vent and let me into the office, and in return I’ll kick balloon boyo for you because that little shit is probably in the office by now.’
Oh, no.
Jack swiveled around slowly, and there it was, standing behind him with that shit-eating grin and those metaphorically soulless eyes.
Jack stared in fear. The thing could smell his fear, he knew with unfaltering certainty.
“Hello,” it said.
The chair faced him towards the monitors again and he slapped open vent five. Immediately came over-dramatic clanking thundering louder towards him and the daily quota of guess what the fuck it is that you’re hearing. Jack guessed something with a tire being rammed over upright nails and the cultic chanting of the rare species of the mysterious shadow doggo.
He also heard Dave.
Dave was confirmed as Dave when the vent flap went flying into Balloon Boy’s face and the freak of nature toppled over and broke what looked to be an expensive rotary phone. It should be once again mentioned that this is when the phone broke, and not earlier in the night due to being thrown into a wall after it didn’t show any signs of shutting up after the first hour.
Dave jumped majestically besides him.
“Old Sport! I knew I could count on you,” the aubergine greeted.
“Why the fuck are you in my nightshift?”
“Excuse you, babe,” Dave kicked the monstrosity to show his sincereness, “I’m here purely for your sake-”
Jack scoffed.
“-because night shift sucks ass and I don’t trust your mental wellbeing after you begged Phone-Face to let you on.”
“Says the literal child murderer,” he muttered. Dave frowned and started standing in that way. Oh, boy, here comes the usual argument.
“My offer still stands, Old Sport. Your SOS bullshit has become so lackluster that even the plastic bear wouldn’t accept a hug from it,” he hopped up onto the side of the chair and Jack resisted the urge to get up and let it keel over, “Whatever martyrdom high you’re trying to pursue has died, fallen into obscurity, has had its neck wrangled with all the fury of unjust boredom-”
“Thanks, Dave.”
Unfortunately, Dave was fully absorbed in the narrative he was spinning.
“-Been stretched out on a torture rack by the time you’ve cleary have nothing better to do with your life.”
“Wow.”
“Its arms have been stretched from here to New Zealand, baby.” He swooped his hand up with a flourish.
“Like your neck?”
“Exactly, Old Sport,” he clicked his tongue, “So will you-”
Jack was saved from the flip-flop of ever increasing yes no yes no I’m not killing kids, Miller by Dave nearly ripping the monitor out of the wall.
“Why do you only have 10% power left-” he yelled, “It’s only 2am? How is that even possible?”
“Uh,” Jack pointed, “Door’s been closed?”
Dave paused to clasp his hands against the bridge of his nose.
“Why weren’t you preserving power, Shitlord?”
“I dunno,” he shrugged, “For some reason, I assumed that I didn’t have to worry about power here.”
“Well, your assumption is dumb.” And then Dave opened every entrance into the room. Jack tried to stand up and protest, but was unceremoniously shoved into the corner as if he were a universally hated bowling ball with a stupid propellor hat.
“No, you stay there,” Dave ordered, “This shift is not going to be fuckier than it already is.”
“Oh, please,” Jack grumbled, “What’s the worst that could happen? Considering that it’s only innocent children possessing the robots.”
“Don’t bullshit me,” Dave was settling into a routine of check cameras, check hallways, wind music box, “I can’t figure out what your agenda is, Old Sport, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have one. There’s a reason we’re both stuck at this godforsaken mistake of a restaurant.”
“Besides the contract?”
“You’re smart, Jaaaaaaaa-” he suddenly stopped his pacing to stare at his chest, “Wait, when’d you change your name to Jack?”
Jack glanced at his nametag and threw his hands up.
“Jack is my real name! I’ve had this thing on for weeks now, how are you only noticing now?”
Dave paused as if he was tasting the air, and put his hand to his chin.
“Jack.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” he waved nonchalantly, “Just… Dunno what I was expecting.”
“At least it’s better than Willy,” he retorted. Dave’s expression froze.
“How do you know my name?” he demanded. Jack propped himself onto the desk, watching the doorways since Dave’s attention was entirely on him now.
“I worked at the original location.”
“Fredbears?” he looked confused.
“Yeah.”
“Hold on, I’m remembering shit,” Dave closed his eyes and then snapped his fingers triumphantly, “Kennedy, there was a Jack Kennedy. You were a nightguard, right?”
“Yup, nearly made the whole week. Just had to get nabbed at the last minute,” Jack chuckled humorlessly. Dave laughed uncomfortably in return.
“That’s what happens at Freddy’s, the robots try to shove ya into metallic death traps.”
With one last awkward cough, he turned back to the camera monitor and started flicking between them. Jack looked up at the time: 4:30am. Man, time passes quickly when you’re conversing with a murderer.
Time for another introspection: Why was Dave murdering anyways? Sure, he said it was to shut the franchise down, but Jack knew from observation that he had plenty enough… creativity to think of better ways to go about that. Dave didn’t seem malicious in any way, just immature. Really immature.
“Tell me about Fredbears,” Jack said.
“Hm?”
“Answer my lore questions, Aubergine Man. How the hell did you end up as co-owner for a half-decent furry ghetto?”
“Don’t insult the diner, Old Fuck. That place was nothing compared to the trash pile it became after the Fazbender suits got to ‘em.”
Jack stretched over to grab the flashlight and shone it on and off into the main hallway a few times, something red slinked back around the far corner.
“Well, Henry was my partner,” he continued, “He was the brains, so to speak. And I was there to support his dream, help out around the place, do a bit of dirty work for him... He had a circus, did you know? It was a brilliant thing, all big and flashy and marvellous. I was around 17, I think? It was passing by the area and I snuck in.”
“Tsk, not buying a ticket. What would your mom say?” Jack snarked thoughtlessly, swinging the torch boredly between his legs.
“No idea, Old Sport. Tiny William was left at an orphanage, and he was kicked out because ‘no one wants a purple kid’.”
“Oh… I’m sorry, Dave. That’s awful. I understand how sucky it is.”
“You do?”
“Well,” Jack rubbed the back of his head, “It’s not the same, but my parents died in a car crash a few years ago.”
“Aw,” Dave sympathised, “That is quite sucky, Old Sport.”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t all bad. I still had my brother, my lil sis, and a sister-in-law.”
“You’ve never mentioned a family,” he moped, “What happened to them?”
You and Henry took them away.
“Nothing, we just don’t talk much anymore,” he sighed.
“Because you’re dead?”
“Sure.”
“Being dead really sucks ass sometimes,” Dave narrowed his eyes at the 2% of power he managed to salvage, “I can’t even buy a beer without some big showdown.”
“I think that’s more because you weren’t paying and that you shot the cashier.”
“Tamato, Tomato, water under the bridge,” he closed a vent, “Where’d you find that out from anyways? I’m flattered that you would stalk me, Sportsy.”
“I heard it through the rotting grapevine, unlike some people who would rather build tunnels into my house.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Dave defended, “How else am I supposed to protect you?”
“Protect me from what exactly? Why?” Jack asked, “Are you aware of how screwed up that is?”
“Why do people keep asking me that? Us undead colourful men need to stick together, Old Sport, it’s a dangerous world out there.”
“Only because people like you go around murdering random innocents,” he was struggling to keep his voice calm.
“Innocents? Everyone on this miserable planet is suffering, and the vulnerable get corrupted and end up just like them.”
“Dave, what fucked up ideology is that?”
“I’m doing the kiddins a favour! Henry taught me all about the afterlife and the way ghosts work. Honestly, the kids’ best shot is to stay within the restaurant walls!”
“Stop, stop stop-!” Oh good Foxy, things were escalating too quickly, “What, exactly did Henry tell you?”
Dave rolled his eyes and crossed his arms tightly.
“I don’t understand what your deal is with Henry. He’s a good man, who’s admittedly maybe made some bad decisions, but it’s all for the greater good. Sacrifices need to be made to progress.”
“And what part of sacrificing children for ‘the greater good’ seems in any way okay to you?”
“Uh, you okay there, Old Sport? You seem a bit worked up.”
“Because you murder people, Dave!” Jack wrung his hands, “Jesus Christ how do I even explain this to you.”
“Woah, Old Sport. I strangle kiddins and you find animatronic foxes sexually attractive. We both have our own societally unacceptable hobbies, and that’s fine.”
“People are hurting because of you!”
“Exactly what people?”
And Jack was up to here with Dave’s bullshit.
“The children, the parents, the families, random employees, the fucking FBI, me!” Jack shouted, “I don’t want to be here. I hate working at these stupid restruants with it’s stupid smelly lethal costumes and worrying about the kids and the dead kids and constantly not knowing what to do in order to fulfill some stupid promise I made because nobody else can do it-!”
Dave’s eyes slightly widened.
“Old Sport-”
“Don’t ‘Old Sport’ me, Afton! I had a family, I had dreams, I had a soul! I want to be with them, but I can’t because I have a job to do and people like you are the most frustrating pieces of shit in this pointless existence of mine because you’re always in the way and hurting people and I just want everyone to be safe.”
“Jack-”
“Is this what you wanted to hear, William? That I know that I’m broken and I’m too in denial to do anything, not that I can anyway because there’s nowhere for me to go and this is my last shot at meaning anything and I’m failing because ultimately these kids’ deaths are also meaningless and the best thing I can provide for them is to let fade away forgotten and scared and alone? Is this what you want to hear-?”
Dave grabbed the front of his shirt and practically threw him under the desk. Jack kicked at him and screamed. A hand was slapped over his mouth.
“Shut the fuck up, you overcooked turbine,” Dave hissed, squishing himself next to him and covered his own mouth. Then Jack heard it, the slow approach of a familiar melody as the hallway lit up with the faintest trace of blue.
The power had gone out sometime during his rant.
Oh, god. Why did he think this was a good idea? He knows that he’s horrible at time management and paying attention to a lot of things at once and basically everything needed to survive night shift.
Doo doo doo doo doo-
He didn’t want to get springlocked again. The company hadn’t changed and he knew that he would have to sit in agonizing pain for hours, not being able to move or think until the morning shift arrived.
Doo doo doo doo doo-
And even then he would just get shipped to the factory.
Doo doo doo doo-
He didn’t want to forget everything.
Doo doo doo doo-
He couldn’t forget his promise to Fredbear and lose the last memories of happier times.
Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo-
He didnt’t want a fucking phone for a head.
Doo doo doo doo doo doo-
He still had kids to save, dammit.
The blue light flickered out as everything truly shut down. He heard silence, and then tremors in the floor as something heavy started moving. He was pressed as far back underneath the desk as he could go, his arms uselessly hanging in front of him. It was so cold. Dave was completely still next to him, with a tense face as he slowly reached under his shirt for something.
Jack jumped and clung onto the desk as a loud noise sparked in the office. Wait, he opened his eyes, he wasn’t being dragged off. It was the sound of a grandfather clock, chiming 6am throughout the pepperonerie. The vents clanged as whatever was in them scrambled away back to their stages. Even the metallic balloon prick was gone.
Jack let out a breath, and then another, and another- oh fuck how do you breathe? Dave slumped onto the ground, shielding his eyes as the lights started up.
When he had finally figured out how to function normally, it was already 6:20am. The aubergine stood awkwardly to the side, fiddling with a picture of breadbear that some traumatized and insanely talented toddler drew.
Jack rubbed his arm and considered just leaving. But… Dave made everything so complicated. The sane part of him knew that he should continue staying the fuck away from him as much as possible. But in the end, Dave was fun to hang out with when he wasn’t being too much of an asshat. And wasn’t that technically his job, freeing the irredeemable and misguided and all that junk?
What the hell? He didn’t have anything to lose.
“Hey, Dave?”
Dave gave a nondescript grunt in response, not making eye contact. Jack’s lips thinned.
“Clearly there is some sort of miscommunication going on here,” he mediated, “Do you want to talk things out?”
Dave still wasn’t acknowledging him, so it was hard to properly read him. He was definitely offended, maybe even sad?
“Look, Dave. I’m sorry if I said anything that hurt you,” Jack still wasn’t sure if he should be apologetic to a man like him, but he was now coming to realize that Dave was one of the only people even remotely near to his corner, “I think we both know this location has been open for way too long,” he thought for a moment, “Maybe we could go to my house this evening? Watch a movie or something and figure out a game plan that we’ll both benefit from?”
He carried on ignoring Jack and turning through the day’s stack of drawings.
He was on the verge of thinking he’d lost Dave when the purple man put them down and rubbed his face in annoyance.
“Yeah, I’d like that, Old Sport. I think it’d also be a good idea to join you for your shifts this week,” he added quietly, “Since you clearly have no idea what you’re doing.”
“Don’t you also have the day shift?”
“Ha,” said Dave, “You actually sleep?”
“And suddenly half of my questions about you have been answered.”
“You wound me, Jack. I’m Davey,” and he was back, “The mystery man, the aubergine terror, you have to leave some obscurity concerning me.”
“You calling me ‘Jack’ now?”
“Well, that is your name. Unless you want me to keep calling you Old Sport? Why did I think your actual name was Old Sport?” he wondered. Jack was 90% sure at this point that Dave ran purely on idiocy and other people’s frustration.
“If we’re officially calling each other by nicknames now,” Dave started, “You can call me Big Dic-”
“Remember I said that I’d skin you alive and pickle your bones in dumpster juice if you ever said that name again.”
“Yeesh, Old Sport. I don’t see the big issue. Homies call each other stuff like that all the time.”
“You need normaller homies.”
“But I’m stuck with you.”
Jack shrugged, “That’s fair.”
With the last of some snacks that he had brought in cleared up (shoved behind wallpaper), he switched off some night specific monitors and they headed out. Dave stretched because he was a lanky bastard. Jack yawned as Afton immediately went to pester Peter, who was halfway through the door and already looked like he wanted to be 2000 miles away from existing.
He gave a small wave and climbed out the window before the phone guy could beg him to come back. From now to 6, Dave was his problem.
Walking home, Jack grew worried about the origins of this whole mess. Dave had said some very concerning things. He couldn’t remember much about Henry, but his little opinion of the pink man was slowly descending into Hell. More was coming back now, though. Fear, and then pain, and then horrible cruel laughter, and then growling, and then there was screaming.
He wondered where Henry had disappeared to.
Enough of that, he shook his head, there was an afternoon of child-proofing his apartment, snack hauling and trash TV ahead of him.
Still, they had made progress. Let’s see how it goes from here.